


Lovers

by nina_rosa95



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-03
Updated: 2014-09-03
Packaged: 2018-02-16 00:07:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2248575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nina_rosa95/pseuds/nina_rosa95
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>How could Stiles describe Derek Hale?</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lovers

How could Stiles describe Derek Hale?

Martyr with a hero complex

Young 

Beta

Omega

Alpha

Victim

Brooding

Obstinate

Resistant

Indomitable

Relentless

Sourwolf

 

Not in his most vulnerable moment, emotions divested to their most forbidden and naked form would he suspect the cloying and near tangible tendrils of intimacy that is derived from an interpersonal relationship cumulatively evolving through bonding during traumatic and perilous situations would lead to such devestatingly logic flouting additions to his perception.

His heart stutters in his chest, mind left reeling with raw friction and dull insights of shock to such still-new developements.

It leaves him aching at night, mind restlessly pondering as his enervated limbs jerk across the desolate cold of his sheets. His joints creak and grind in diluted whines as his fingers outstretch, the textured pads of his phalanges grazing against the vacancy between his sheets and comforter.

Still, his fingers twitch and dance beneath the sheets in an aggitated stretch, an intoxicating restlessness fueling his urge to search and seek.

In a lucid state of mind with an all-inclusive mentality he had not thought to put Derek in this category when regarding himself.

It leaves him lusting for information as he treks back in time through a multitude of walks down memory lane. His eyes dart minutely from side-to-side as he analyzes, impatience and aggrivation growing with the chills of nerves raking through his back in shock waves that heighten in severity and the depth of impact with each franticly beseeching trip.

The word is dripping off of the tip of his tongue, saliva slicking his lips as his breath shudders and his voice hauls a near silent croak in a whirlwind of air up his throat.

It's a word neither of them are willing to broach just yet. It leaves him quaking through the frigid cold on certain nights, gritting his teeth in the resounding silence as, at times, odious and unsought solitude deafens him. 

The absence of an anchor, however temporary, is unsavory and encumbering on these certain nights where his thoughts grow a tad hysterical, his body wound tight with anxiety and a fatigue so bone-deep he yearns and aches for sleep.

However, there are other nights that his skin tingles, goosebumps rising as it chases the sensation of a unique, spicy breath's caress. His skin becomes sensitized, so easily stimulated as heat envelopes every inch of him. 

There are nights where he can feel the cool damp of glistening sweat lining his skin, growing with his anticipation as a firm and scorching body lines up with his. He can feel claw clad fingers, sharp as they declare their presence against flesh covered sinew and bone.

He can feel heat and a frenzied passion that burns for hours until fatigue temporaily overcomes the war between sleep and a basic, carnal need.

He can feel the soothing touch of irrefragable companionship, understanding and mutual protection encompassing his mind like the ghost of a shield and the overlaying, weighty promise of trust and developing friendship.

There are nights where he can openly lay his claim just as clearly and with such dedicated, liberal attentiveness as Derek does.

There are nights where they fight against each other, unrestrained domiance rising to an intense crescendo until someone submits. 

There are nights where the enslaving pleasure of skin and friction is forgotten in exchange for needy, desperate reassurances as blood is washed off while wounds are wrapped and left to heal.

There are nights in which they cannot battle against the semi-self-willed reclusiveness and the gradually infrequent nights of separation. There are nights where their skin feels too tight and their body thrums with the unadulterated, irrepressible need for tangible intimacy.

Some nights they leave the curtains open. The moon provocatively highlights their bodies, arousing their senses and openly displaying blown pupils as titllating and contradictory sensations enthrall their bodies.

There's one heavy word that hasn't been voiced, even after Derek divested Stiles of any qualifications and credibility of the title virgin.

Still, he uses it to describe Derek in his own right in the fast-paced privacy of his mind.

_Lover_

It's writen in the claiming marks bitten and sucked into his neck. It's graffito sporadically splattered across his body in the form of scruff burn. 

It's burned into his mind alongside the intoxicating sounds of Derek's rumbling growls, low-pitched groans and whispered grunts and gasps as he presses in deep and leaves Stiles empty on the next satisfying roll of his hips.

It's impressed into his each time their bodies graze against against each other. It's ingrained and saturated into his skin each time he lets Derek wreck him during their impassioned ravishing and leaves behind a sweet, dull aching memory ground into his entire body that lasts for days until it's reignited.

It's left behind in his being where Derek's unintentionally burned a place for himself.

It's apparent in the heady trust they've garnered over the years.

It's obvious in the way their eyes roam one another and their hands twitch with aborted moves as they unconsciously gravitate toward the other.

They have no need to speak the word when they increasingly embody it with every new trouble making its way to Beacon Hills.


End file.
